


you can take Bucky out of Hydra but you can't take the Hydra out of Bucky

by bampot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Bucky Barnes Recovering, Dissociation, Everything Hurts, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gen, Panic Attacks, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, Suicide Attempt, Winter Soldier Bucky Barnes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-17
Updated: 2018-06-17
Packaged: 2019-05-24 11:18:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14953682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bampot/pseuds/bampot
Summary: Steve and Bucky are really just trying to live their best life, with nice cooked meals, a nice house and a nice friend.Except that neither of them really sleep, both of them have nightmares and everything is kind of shitty. Also, Bucky disassociates and it usually ends very not good.If he could, Steve would formally send a letter with nothing but a hyper realistic drawing of a middle finger on it to Hydra. For now, he'll stick to making Bucky food when life gets tough (which is always.)





	you can take Bucky out of Hydra but you can't take the Hydra out of Bucky

Steve is pretty sure that Hydra never made Bucky any omelettes.

Sam's always been the chef between the three of them, but he had his life to live and it didn't seem appropriate to call him just for a make-me-food call. Besides, Steve's fully capable of making an omelette himself. Probably.

He's busy chopping the green onions when Bucky comes in all messy haired and groggy, wiping at his eyes. He looks like he hasn't slept in a while, likely because Steve is pretty sure he hasn't. Steve wakes up in the middle of the night sometimes, nightmares and all, stumbles out to the kitchen to make a drink because he doesn’t think he’ll be able to get to sleep again, only to see that Bucky's always already there, sitting cozy on the couch. The coffee will have already been made, all Steve needs to do is pour himself a cup.

There’s a pretty good chance that Bucky says goodnight without any intention of it actually being a good night for himself. Steve knows that when Bucky goes on missions, he is guaranteed to be the one on the lookout while the rest of them get some nap time. Knows from old Winter Soldier logs that Bucky can stay awake for two weeks. Or at least, that's the amount they tested him for, worried about his performance in the field. Steve would have been more worried about Bucky dying from sleep deprivation, but yeah, it was Hydra, your local Nazi organization that didn’t make it a habit to treat anybody humanely. Not even their best soldier ( _maybe especially their best soldier._ )

So, Steve has a roundabout idea of just what amount of sleep Bucky gets. Buck refuses to take medication, more stubborn than Steve in the 1940s. To be fair, they aren't even sure if medication would work on either of them. (Steve also wonders if medication in general freaks Bucky out. Hydra did some weird shit to him.)

Bucky blinks a few times; looks up at Steve. Glances down.

Something flashes in his eyes, but it goes away as quick as it came. Bucky looks uncomfortable, but fine nonetheless. He approaches the counter almost wary, but Bucky's always on edge; with good reason, considering his background.

"Mornin', Buck."

The man in question replies with a nod and a simple, "Hey."

"Thought maybe you'd wanna try something new?" Steve says, raising up the knife a little to show off the vegetables. He had a little falter on his phrasing, but he puts up a quick smile and tries his best to ignore the fumble. If anything even sounds like a command (read: suggestion), it tends to put Bucky on his toes.

Buck nods again, a ghost of a smile on his face. “Sure, Stevie.”

Steve swipes the onions off to the side of the cutting board, places a pepper in its place. Bucky's eyes are fixed on Steve's chopping work.

"Sharp knife, huh?"

He's quieter, today; his voice gritty and lost.

"Yeah," Steve laughs, a pit of concern in his stomach that he pushes away. Jokes, "Maybe we should bring it into the field."

He hopes that Bucky's rolling his eyes, but Steve keeps his eyes on the peppers, careful of his fingers.

"I was thinking of getting some meat in here too." Steve comments after a beat of silence. "Soak it in oil, maybe, make it disgusting and dripping. If I had one reason to not want to go back the forties, I think rations would be it.”

"There was also a war going on, Stevie."

"Don't know, kinda missed almost dying all the time."

"What's changed?"

Steve raises his eyes to Bucky, but a tight, thin smile stares back at him, eyes cast down. The joy he's feigning doesn't go past his lips. The lame joke Steve had dissipates. Bucky looks up at Steve, who's ceased his movements. Bucky's eyes wander and his body stiffens further.

"You good?"

Steve wonders the same of his friend. "Yeah, yeah, sorry. Do you feel like bacon?"

•••

Steve wakes fast, breathing hard. Images of blood and lost faces flash before him; things he tries to forget. He vaguely feels something dripping down his chin, trailing down his cheeks and he wipes it away quickly before his hand goes back to his bed, curling around the sheets. They feel like the only thing anchoring him.

And then there's someone beside him, but Steve doesn't quite register them correctly. He just turns, sees, and defends.

Terror is still running through his veins. Someone says something to him, but it's loud, too close, and he feels his heartbeat go even more erratic. _Is that normal? Is he dying?_ His fists clench tighter. A sense of danger sets inside of him and he lashes out, the surface he hit becoming his momentum to ram himself into the wall. He hears a crack.

It's then that his mind clears, the storm lifting. Bucky is on the floor, caressing his cheek. There's a bruise forming on his cheekbone. It looks angry.

Still breathless, Steve searches for eye contact that isn't coming. "Bucky?"

He flinches at the name or maybe just the sound. He looks up at Steve's face and, thankfully, there's recognition. "Sorry."

"I just hit you, Buck." Steve says, "I'm the one who should be sorry."

There may be recognition, but there certainly isn't any belief in those words, judging by Bucky's expression.

There's a knife on the bed stand. Steve stares. He didn't put that there. He frowns.

Bucky is kneeling beside his bed, hands on his knees, head raised and face twisted into an expression that looks as close to passive as Steve supposes Bucky can get it. He looks so submissive it makes Steve want to vomit. "Buck?"

No answer, but he's still staring ahead, vacantly. It's unsettling.

"Wanna keep me company ‘til morning?"

Bucky crawls onto the bed almost immediately before sitting down at the foot of it. It's four in the morning; Steve only had another hour before he'd wake anyway. Bucky, on the other hand...

"You could also sleep in your own room, if you don't want to be here. I'm not going to pressure you into anything." Steve reassures him, possibly too late. Bucky nods, but doesn't move. He still looks a somewhat scared out of his wits.

Now that the nightmare is over, it's Steve's turn to be there for Buck, hopefully with less hitting involved. He feels awful, but it's not the first time that something like that's happened; sometimes it's the other way around. It's not good, of course, but neither of them are going to stop having nightmares and neither are going to stop coming when the other is in distress either, so they’re at stalemate.

Steve studies Bucky's expression. It looks fearful, still. He's also sitting as he had been on the floor, that awful pose that had Hydra's abuse written all over it.

"Do you remember Coney Island?” Steve asks. Bucky shakes his head no, expression twisting further, like he's done something wrong.

Steve rushes to start his rambling, tripping over his words a little bit but he gets his point across all the same. It's a silent reassurance, he hopes.

He tells old stories until Bucky smiles; a real, genuine smile. There's something misty in his eyes, but he keeps asking for more. Then, Bucky says something about his turn to make breakfast and takes his leave.  
Bucky was gone, but the knife stayed by Steve's side. Morning was waking outside of Steve's window. The sun shone on the knife, giving it a menacing gleam. Steve pushed it off and it landed on the ground with a clatter.

•••

The knife was gone by the time Steve had gone to the bathroom then back to his room to get changed for his run. When Steve got back, a little bit of sweat on his skin, the knife's shining light caught his eye. It was back in Bucky's steady hand.

Bucky often tosses it around as if it's something harmless, like a ball.

Steve once brought up his concern, thinking of the fingers he could lose on his flesh hand but Bucky had looked so stricken and insulted that Steve dropped the subject.

Besides, he always held it, tossed it and caught it with such fluidity and grace. It was actually kind of beautiful to see, once you got over the fact that he was flipping a knife around between his fingers.

Often, he'd give the knife to Steve with no explanation, sort of like a child giving him his favorite toy. At first, Steve thought the knife was for his own protection but honestly? He had no idea. Often, around the house, he'd find a knife being handed or slid to him.

A few times now, Bucky's slipped it to him during breakfast, even if Steve's already buttering his toast. Bucky's knife was a lot sharper than Steve's butter knife, but he didn't really need it considering he really did just need a butter knife. The only times that Bucky’s looked somewhat remorseful to part with the knife is when there's someone else around. But aside from those times, he almost looks grateful to be rid of it.

Steve wonders if Bucky's trying to give it to him. However, Steve doesn't really know how to ask without sounding like he wants to have the knife. It's a great knife, sure, but a question like, " _Are you trying to give me this_?" would likely end with a lie on Bucky's part; whatever he thinks would make Steve happy.

All he wants is Bucky's comfort, and although he looks disappointed whenever he takes it back, yet distressed when it's missing, Steve doesn't condemn him. He's sure Buck has a reason. For the chance of that, Steve leaves him be. Bucky's happiness, safety and just general support of whatever Bucky wants to do is top priority since Bucky wanting is a novelty. Even that was something that Hydra didn’t allow.

So the "habit" stays.

•••

Steve wakes up fast, but he's not the one breathing hard and crying. He can hear animalistic screaming from across the hall.

He shoves off his blankets and dashes into Bucky's room, who's writhing in the sheets. He's not screaming anymore, which is worse because now he's whining, low in his throat, an awful, vulnerable type of seeth.

"Bucky," Steve calls out softly, not stupid enough to touch his friend in this state.

"Buck."

Bucky's eyes shoot open, full of unshed tears. He makes a strangled noise, takes one shallow breath and continues to strangle.

"Breathe, Bucky, you gotta breathe."

Bucky's eyes shoot to meet Steve's, but Steve isn’t so sure that he's actually seeing _Steve_.  
Then he lets out all the breath he's been holding in but it doesn't come out quite right, it goes fast and quick or long and shaky.

Bucky looks terrified. It's an expression of his that Steve is much too familiar with.

"Bu–"

He shoots his hand out and grips Steve's neck.

Steve doesn't want to hurt him but he doesn't want to pass out either. He tries Bucky's name again, but his movements are robotic, programmed, and Bucky was never programmed to know his own name.

"Are you my handler?" Bucky gasps out, eyes wide and searching Steve's face. " _Who are you_?"

"I'm your friend–" Steve tries, but Bucky's grip tightens.

" _I need my handler!_ ” Bucky screams, panting; his hand on Steve's throat is practically vibrating.

Steve's vision is getting spotty now, but he manages out a single, "Who?" and Bucky seems to get the gist, even in his frantic, panicking state.

" _Pierce_."

Oh. They were in for a fun ride.

•••

It takes a bit of force, but Steve doesn't pass out or die and neither does Bucky, so he counts it as a win. As soon as Bucky realized what he was doing, he had shot back, as if electrocuted. He'd been shaking and he'd apologized profusely, but he had seemed okayish, by their standards.

Bucky had asked (demanded?) him to leave, so now, here he was, making breakfast.

Thought Bucky might like some fluffy pancakes; Sam had left him a recipe.

When Bucky walked into the kitchen, Steve was actually just about to check on him; possible house fires be damned.

Buck looked worse for the wear, heavy bags under his eyes and a haunted expression on his face. He held onto The Knife with a loose grip, so loose that it almost looked like it would slip from his fingers. His eyes were still red, had he been crying again?

"Want a pancake? I got some with blueberries in them." Steve said, pointedly ignoring Bucky's latest episode.

"No, it's okay, Stevie."

Steve gave a bit of a frown at that. "You sure? They're warm. At least have some blueberries, Buck." He passed him the bowl of extra blueberries, sitting in a pool of water. Super-serum was great for a lot of things, but it did mean that they had to eat a lot more. Steve didn't want to make him feel forced to do anything, but he really did need to eat.

Bucky tenderly reached out, silently taking a single berry in metal fingers. He timidly popped it in his mouth.

“You can have them all, I'm out of batter.”

Bucky scarfed down the rest of them.

The pancake sizzled on the pan. Steve shimmied the flipper under it and: voila! Golden brown, just as it should be with navy blue speckles within. He might have burnt the omelettes, but he was good with pancakes.

Definitely better than the ones in the Depression.

Steve heard the knife before he saw it. It was flipped around, so the blade was facing at Bucky. Easier for Steve to grab.

Now wasn't really the best time, but Steve really did want answers. He flipped the last remaining pancake onto a plate of stacked up fluffy goodness before clearing his throat.

"Bucky?"

He immediately snapped his head up to attention.

Steve coughed. This was an awful time to ask this question. "You don't have to answer if you don't want to, but I was just wondering something.”

Bucky nodded, tilting his head to the side as an imaginary question mark.

"Why do you keep handing me this knife?"

The only sound was the soft whirr of the fridge behind him. Bucky looked like he'd been slapped in the face. There was a pause, then: "I– I thought you... Knew?"

"No, Bucky, I didn't. It just seemed to make you more comfortable so I let it be, but no Buck, I have no idea."

Steve can see the gears turning in Bucky's mind.

"It's just common protocol." Bucky forces out.

"Protocol for what?"

Bucky's hands are violently shaking. "I–If the Asset–"

"You aren't the Asset anymore, Buck, you aren't a _thing_. You’re a _person_.”

He doesn't look convinced. He takes a deep breath, makes direct eye contact. It’s uncomfortable for both of them. "If the Handler notices the Asset is malfunctioning or underperforming then the Handler has the right to shut down the Asset and the Asset must always hold the provisions to do such."

It's like he's reading a manual.

"Like–" Steve swallows. Maybe one of the worst times to ask this question. There wasn’t anything close enough for him to vomit into. "Like shut down? As in..."

"Not death," Bucky clarifies. His face is blank now, as if someone hit the off button on Bucky Barnes. But he hasn't stopped shaking. He's still afraid. Apparently, the only thing Hydra couldn’t take away were his feelings. "The Asset is incapable of bleeding out as the wound would heal too soon for blood loss to take that drastic of an affect, provided that there are minimal wounds to tend to."

Bucky continues, "But it is possible for the blood loss to make the Asset go unconscious and therefore shut down."

"Bucky. You aren't with Hydra anymore."

"I am the Asset." he insisted.

"No, you're _Bucky_."

At that, his face shifted into a meeker expression. "Is that how you would prefer to refer to me?"

"Bucky, that's your name. That's who you are."  
Bucky winces, lower lip trembling. His words were falling to pieces, just as he was. "Your instructions are... Insufficient. Confusing. I apologize, sir, I don't mean to–"

Discreetly, Steve takes his phone out of his pocket and he interrupts Bucky's rambles. "Bucky."

His gaze intensifies. He looks so confused and scared. He wears such a raw expression of _I screwed up I screwed up I screwed up_ on his face, and Steve feels more like maybe he should have played along, should have done it differently, should have just played the part–

Swiftly, Bucky grabs the knife, twirls it between his fingers, and stabs it into his wrist, dragging it up and into a long vertical cut. Tosses it, catches it, stabs himself in the side for good measure and then throws it across the room just as the red starts to seep through his skin.

"Buck–"

A metal fist collides with Steve's face, phone collapsing out of his hand as he stumbles backwards. He can hear Bucky's blood dripping onto the floor. He grabs his phone off of the floor with clumsy hands, dials Sam immediately, who picks up on the first ring. “Sam, it's an emergency, Bucky’s disassociating and oh god–”

He's ripping the wound on his arm with his metal hand. Steve drops his phone.

“Bucky, stop!”

Bucky's hand flings out, clutching Steve's neck. There's blood on the metal, Bucky's blood. His eyes are sliding closed. This isn’t like the other night, post-nightmare, Bucky terrified and distressed (if a little confused.) This is the Winter Soldier, trying to kill him. There's a high chance that Bucky would have succeeded, Steve hanging uselessly from Bucky's grasp which was tightening with every moment. Steve makes no move to end this horror, arms by his sides. The black that had begun to creep into his sight has corrupted his vision, only a pinhole left. But then, Bucky passes out, landing with a thud and smearing his blood on the floor. Steve followed suit a second later.

From Steve's phone, “ _I’m on my way.”_

_•••_

Bucky opened his eyes, just a little, but he felt blinded by the harsh whiteness of his environment. That wasn’t right. _My room isn’t white. Where the fuck am I?_

The light immediately dims. He’s in darkness. It fills him with familiarity.

“Buck, Bucky, calm down, you’re at the hospital.”

“th’fck ‘s goin' on?”

“You’re high. You stabbed yourself, remember?”

… not really. Was he supposed to? How long ago was this? Bucky already had a litany of questions to ask but what came out was: “Steve?”

“No, this is Sam. Steve's napping.”

“… N'pin?”

“Yeah.”

Bucky didn’t remember when his eyes had slipped closed. But he didn’t really feel like opening them again. Maybe he should tell Sam that he's sleeping, not dying or anything. Or call Steve, that's a good idea, right? Rrgh. But… god, Bucky was tired. So tired. So tired, in fact, that he thought… maybe… he'd just…

•••

“I don't know how coherent he'll be, Steve, they put a lot of drugs in him. He was pretty freaked out the first time he came to.”

“Not the second time though. You said yourself that he was just fine.”

“And he was just fine yesterday all the way up until he suffocated you.”

That was blunt.

“…” he pauses. Sighs. “Yeah, Sam, I know, I was there.”

“I was just reminding you. My point is that he's really out of it. He didn’t mean to do anything to you. He's not in the present. That wasn’t him.” Sam says, even though Bucky's pretty sure Steve already knows this. Didn’t they start a war over this? ( _Or was that a different war? Bucky always gets all of the fights mixed up. It's never mattered anyway_.)

“Yeah, I know,” Steve says. Ha, Bucky was right. But then Steve continues. “I just… it's all my fault. If I hadn’t–”

Bucky _so_ did not want to listen whatever self-deprecating speech Steve was about to spew. He coughs.

“’m alive.” and then, just in case, “’nd present.”  
His head felt fuzzy. He didn’t feel like he was high, necessarily, just really, really tired. The room is pretty dim. “Doctors?”

“No, just us.” Steve says softly. “How much do you remember?”

Bucky scrunches up his face. “There were pancakes?”

It starts as a sentence, but turns into a question as he realizes that he's not actually sure if that happened. Was that from the 40s?

Steve laughs. “Yeah, there were pancakes. You weren’t out for very long. They just stuck a bunch of drugs in you so you’d stay under longer.”

Bucky nods, that makes sense. Everything is falling into place. He'd been confused, before, on where he was, what was happening, but he understood now. They hadn’t needed him yet. _But they need me now._ “What’s my mission?”

Silence.

“No, no, Buck, there's no mission. It's 2018, remember?”

It didn’t usually matter if he remembered these kinds of things. So the answer was no, he didn’t remember. Or at least, not the correct things in the correct order.

“Yes.” Bucky says instead. Plain and simple. It was a good word.

“Are we losing him again?” Steve murmurs to Sam. Bucky pretends that he can’t hear it.  
“Do you remember me?” Sam asks. A direct question, Bucky likes that.

“Yes.” Bucky says again, because they liked that word last time.

“Uh-huh.”

He doesn’t sound convinced.

“Sam Wilson, Steve's better looking friend.” he says, motioning to himself. Then, to his left, “Steve Rogers, Captain America, the guy that everybody thinks is your boyfriend.”

Bucky glances at Steve, who looks like someone has just shot his dog ( _has someone? Has he? Did he shoot Steve's dog? Does Steve have a dog? Too many questions. Slow down. Recalibrate._ ) He remembers a feeling of happiness, at the sight of Steve’s face. And sad, at times. He knows that this is someone he should protect, knows that this is someone he is familiar with, knows that Steve is important, doesn’t know any of the why. He has so many questions to ask, but instead of the millions racing through his head, a specific word comes to mind. He furrows his brow. Yeah, great. Something else that doesn’t make any sense.

Should he risk even asking? His mouth moves without the go-ahead. “... _Newspapers_?”

Laughing. “Yeah, Buck, newspapers.”

Oh.

_Oh._

_You used to wear newspapers in your shoes._

Bucky can’t help but laugh a little too, despite himself. He keeps his head down. Feels silly, a little bit stupid. They’d have to talk about the disassociation thing later. The thought of losing himself without Hydra by his side struck a chord; not a good chord. He felt a chill down his sides.

_One step at a time. Recalibrate._

“Hi, Stevie.”

•••

They kept him in the hospital for a few more days. He was a super soldier, but said super soldier had also ripped his arm open. The stab wound had healed overnight, but the arm required technology that Bucky didn’t quite understand, even though Sam had tried to explain it extensively.

He was quite sure that it would heal on its own, then heal the scar it'd made, as it had happened in the past. Hydra didn’t always bring an extensive amount of medical equipment, especially when they discovered that it wasn’t necessarily important.

However, Steve and Sam were set on making him stay in the hospital so that it would “heal faster.”

Bucky didn’t really get what all the fuss was about.

While they were there, Steve and Sam seemed to forget that Bucky had also been injected with the super-serum and could therefore hear all of their conversations that they were trying to hide behind a singular closed door. It was almost insulting.

“Just because you two are Avengers or whatever, doesn’t mean you’re above therapy.” Sam's voice leaks through the door.

“How is therapy going to help him?” comes Steve's expected incredulous reply.

“The same way it helps everybody else.”

“He won’t even tell me what his nightmares are about, and you expect him to tell a shrink?”

“Yeah, actually, that's kind of a big part about therapy.”

Bucky didn’t need the super-serum to know that Steve was likely rolling his eyes.

They bickered for a few more seconds and as much as Bucky _loved_ the attention (he didn’t), he really didn’t want to listen to this conversation anymore. Why talk _about_ him when they could talk _to_ him?

The nurse had left him a paper cup of water in case he got thirsty. Even he couldn’t make that into a weapon (unless he shoved it down their throats or crushed into a ball and stuffed it into their eyes.) He picked it up and threw it at the door. It splashed into a puddle on the floor.

Steve and Sam burst into his room. Steve was in first. “Bucky, are you okay, what happened –“

“Dude.” Sam's nudges Steve. Picks the cup off the floor and pours the few drops of water it has left on Steve's head. Steve looks insulted but all other parties concerned are not in the least. They make twin snorts. Sam raises an eyebrow (and the cup) at Bucky. “Seriously? What are you, a cat?”

“You know I can hear you guys, right?” Bucky says, raising his eyebrow in retaliation to Sam’s. “Super soldier, and all that. You could just get my opinion on this.”

Steve interjects, “We didn’t want to overwhelm you.”

“No need to treat me like a toddler.” Bucky snorts. “I’m fine, Stevie.”

Sam looks unimpressed. “Says the dude in a hospital bed.”

Bucky huffs. “I thought Steve knew about the protocol–“

“I thought you knew you weren’t the Asset anymore.” Steve retorts.

“Old habits die hard.”

“Carrying a knife around in case I decide to kill you should not be a habit.”

“ _Too bad_ , Steve. Not everybody's perfect.” _Like you_.

“Most people aren’t suicidal.”

“Most people haven’t been Hydra's best weapon.”

“So Barnes isn’t like other boys, that's not really the point here,” Sam interjects. “Snowflake has problems, we got that far. I was trying to talk solutions until you threw a cup at a door and we haven’t really gotten back to talking about solutions. Shall we continue?”

Steve and Bucky glare at each other.“

Should I take that as a no, or...?“

I could just try stuff. Whatever you were talking about. Everything.” Bucky says. Sam could not list the things he thinks Bucky might need or want to try with his fingers if he had five sets of hands. “ _Everything?_ ”“

Worth a try, right?” he says, “My triggers are gone but the Winter Soldier is still there.”“

He shouldn’t be, Wanda said that it should all be over.” Steve says incredulously.“

It's not her, it's _me_.” Bucky comes to the young woman’s defense. “The Asset is just…”I

t's difficult to come up with the words. How best to describe it. Even Bucky finds it disturbing (he finds most things about himself disturbing, but that's beside the point.) “It’s a comfortable place to be.”S

teve has an expression along the lines of “why the hell” on his face, mixed with a tad of Sarah's Disappointment Face™, though Steve could never match his mum's expertise. He could never get as much practice.“

I know how to be the Asset.” Bucky says, sighing. He keeps his head down. “I don’t know how to be Bucky.”“

"You _are_ Bucky.”

"Bucky was some sort of… Casanova.” he wears his wonder on his face. He vaguely remembers hanging around various women. “He killed people for a good cause in the war. I haven’t.”“

You were a prisoner. Brainwashed. It's not your fault.”“

It was still me.” Bucky insists. “I still remember how they looked when they died.”

"Alright lover boys, stop it with the angst.” Sam interrupts. “Go to couples therapy, figure it out there. And, while Bucky's at it, he can go to the rest of therapy! Just, everything. In general. Try out some hypnotism, see what happens.”

"I’m okay with that.” Bucky says quietly. Steve looks conflicted. Bucky pauses. Says, “I'm not actually suicidal, I mean, I don’t think. I don’t actually really know what I think. But I really don’t think I’m actually suicidal. Just so you know.”

“Thanks, Buck.” Steve says, giving a small laugh. It's not a happy laugh.

…

“I’ll go get some paper towel to clean up that puddle.” Sam mutters, effectively excusing himself from the room.

Bucky and Steve sit in a borderline-awkward silence.

“Tell me something from the forties.” Bucky asks softly. And Steve does.

Bucky nods off as Steve speaks, losing himself in the description of who he was. Who he wishes he could be again, but will never be. Just another thing that Hydra took away from him.

**Author's Note:**

> prompt: "it is my headcanon that there is a gun on the table in this scene [Bucky sitting in front of Pierce, hidden in the shadows] because The Winter Soldier has been trained to arm any of his handlers who are not already armed while in his presence so that, if they so choose, they can put him down at any time.  
> Later, it takes Steve months to figure out why Bucky gives him a knife every time they're in the same room."
> 
> OKAY SO. I MIGHT HAVE FORGOTTEN BITS OF THE PROMPT AS I WAS WRITING THIS. BUT IT'S OKAY. BECAUSE IT WASN'T REQUESTED, IT'S JUST A TUMBLR POST. Anyway I'm actually pretty happy with this fic? Not sure about the characterization (but what author is, really) but aside from that I think I like it? I would, however, like to formally apologize to my last English teacher who told me not to use semicolons, brackets or ellipses. Because I used all of them. Extensively. Never mind, I'm not sorry about it whoops


End file.
